Tied-Up With A Timetable
by FloydOfWar
Summary: The haunting of Harrowstone will have to wait, as the trail for the first of Calistria's daggers heats up. There's no time to consult his companions, as Shina vanishes off to question his only lead.


At Shina's last count, the old man slumped at the bar was on his seventh pint, and showed no signs of needing to stop. The young elf nursed his own tankard on the other side of the room, his sharp eyes only ever leaving the old man whenever the tavern door opened, as he sussed out the comings and goings of the patrons, before clicking back to the old drunk.

It was no challenge to keep watch, the hustle and bustle of the tavern was winding down as the locals drifted off towards their homes for much needed rest at the end of a long week. Coppers had rained generously into the taverns coffers today, as locals had soothed growing unease with increasing amounts of ale. Talks of necromancy and hauntings burned like verbal kindling, breaking the people of Ustalav out in a sweat despite the biting cold weather of winter. But that was of no interest in Shina at this time, there was plenty of time to dwell on ghosts and hauntings once he returned to Ravengro.  
He wondered for a moment if his companions of chance had noticed his absence, but the train of thought was ceased when the old man stirred and stood, adjusting the blacksmiths apron he still wore from work as he rose and, with a smiling nod towards the barkeeper, headed towards the door.  
Once the door clicked close behind him, Shina began to count to himself, rolling his shoulders and downing the rest of his drink. At the count of seven, he rose gracefully and slipped out as well. He had timed it perfectly, as he entered the alley the tavern opened out into the moment the smith dropped with a thud, sending a few crates crashing.

Shina approached the downed smith as he absentmindedly stroked the now partially empty vial in his belt, one he had 'borrowed' from his new alchemist companion back in Ravengro. Nudging the unconscious man with his foot, he raised a silver eyebrow. Satisfied his target was definitely knocked out, he heaved the limp body over his shoulder and set off at a calm walk towards an open drain grate.

Despite the fact he had been raised almost entirely locked away from the world, Shina still found places like drains and caves kinda gross. But luckily, the drain system that ran underneath the merchants sector of the city was well maintained, with many watertight storerooms. He had chosen one of these storerooms to rest his groggy ward in, laying the man against a pipe and fastening his hands behind him as he closed and locked the door.

Pulling a crate over from a nearby pile, he sat, and waited for his captive to come back to their senses, which didn't take too long.

The smiths eyes opened slowly, groggily, before widening as his senses returned and he begun to study his situation, instinctively straining against the restraints binding him as he studied the room with wide-eyes, his human eyes barely piercing the darkness that Shinas elven eyes welcomed.  
"Petrik Naremorne."  
The smith swallowed, forcing his breathing to slow down to fight back panic, his eyes slowly adapting to the darkness allowing him to make out the silhouette of a lean man sitting a few feet from him.  
"Petrik? The toxin didn't paralyse your tongue did it?"  
Petrik swallowed again, before responding to the voice, trying to keep his OWN voice calm and steady.  
"N-no, I can talk. Who are you? What do you want with me?"  
Tilting his head as he observed the quivering smith, Shina stood and took a few steps over to the nearby wall, retrieving a flint and steel from one of the many pouches on his belt as he did so, striking and lighting a wall-mounted torch to bathe the room in a steady glow.  
Petrik winced as his eyes adapted once again, the light glaring at first, before he was able to once again study the room, this time with accuracy. What he saw was a lean elf, with short-cut silver hair and almost unbelievably pale skin, dressed in ragged, darkened leather.

The elf looked over at him, a rather kind smile teased one corner of his mouth.  
"Better?"  
Petrik nodded slowly, relaxing very slightly, but still not taking his eyes from the elf, as said elf wandered back to the crate it had risen from, and resumed its seat.  
"Who are you?"  
Shina waved his hand dismissively.  
"That's not important, I prefer the other question you asked before; what do I want with you?"  
He smiled wider, tilting his head to one side as he slid the flint back into its pouch, never breaking eye contact with the restrained man.  
"I'm not going to beat around the bush here, I'm on a timetable. You're Petrik Naremorne, you've been a weapon smith for twenty years, six months ago you were approached by a woman who presented you with an ornate dagger, and requested you replicate it four times, with as near-perfect clones as you could, cost was no concern to her. You did so, and she was pleased with your service."

Petriks eyes widened, he remembered that woman AND the job all too well, for the woman was forever etched into his memory and the work had been among his best. "You're going to tell me about the original dagger, the woman, and any ideas you have about where she hailed from."  
Shina leant forward, the smile lessening as his eyes sharpened, staring intently. Petrik paused for a few moments, as his thoughts ran a course.  
"I..I didn't know she was hunted, or the dagger was stolen, I meant no participation in any wrongdoings sir, I am but a smith who used the gold to feed his daughter."  
"I appreciate your humble and honest nature, but that doesn't answer any of what I have asked about."  
"The dagger was something else, sir, I've never seen anything like it. The grip had the wear of a well-used weapon, but the blade showed no signs of combat; no etches or chips showed, and it shone like freshly oiled steel. Was it a stolen weapon, sir?"  
"Of sorts. The guard golden, and the blade about seven inches long?"  
"Yes sir, it was golden but not gold, it was treated metal."  
"Enchanted?"  
"Yes sir. I was holding it to study it, and it slipped from my grip and would normally have dented by counter, but my counter severed in two. Twas a finishing blow weapon sir"

Shina nodded, standing, as he began to pace, in an attempt to disguise his excitement. "And the woman?"  
"She was, by all appearances, just a human like myself sir, but her eyes were not human. They were tainted. Much like-" He silenced himself with a yelp, as a piece clicked into place, the mans eyes shining in his memory as he gazed into Shinas own. "By the gods, you're one of them."

Shina turned his body to face the man directly, crossing his arms over his chest, staring him down.  
"I am. And you know what my mission must be then?"  
Petrik nodded slowly, his throat tightening in fear, tightening his voice into a coarse whisper. "I..I didn't know it was one of them sir."  
Shina sneered, rolling his eyes. "Didn't know? That you, a weapon smith from an educated youth, were looking at and studying and replicating a Blade Of Calistria, three of the most legendary daggers ever forged?"

Petrik HAD known, he had pored over the dagger for weeks, studying its every fold. Daggers so flawlessly forged, that the goddess of wasps herself had fancied them her stings. And he had held one of them in his hands. He was a good smith, and he knew he was good. If he had managed to crack the method used to forge those daggers, he could have forged his own legacy as one of the great smiths. But he had failed, his copies had been the same in appearance only, but fell pathetically short in comparison to the original.  
Shina broke his gaze with the terrified man, walking over to a knapsack leaning against the wall and pulling it over towards the crate. He reached in and retrieved a wrapped up bundle. He placed the bundle down in front of Petrik, and unwrapped it, revealing four shining daggers, each golden.  
Petrik gazed upon them dumbly, blinking, unsure of what to say. Shina picked up one of the daggers, balancing the point of the blade upon the smiths nose, their faces close enough that Petrik could smell the honeyed ale on his captors breath.  
"Four blades. Four excellent copies. Each one sealed away in a fake tomb, each one protected by people fooled into thinking it was real." Petrik blinked again, gulping. He recognized his work easily.  
Shina spoke again, his voice low. "Your willingness to accept work from a shady as fuck figure, in exchange for a chance to try and master a forging technique older than this city, cost twenty people their lives. I am a hunter who dislikes being distracted, Petrik. But I also hate causing un-needed mess through un-needed delays."  
Petrik quivered, his eyes frozen to the dagger tip rested on the end of his nose, no longer blinking. "Now, the woman."  
"She was staying at The Lipped Leopard while I worked, it's a smaller inn in the merc-"  
"I know where it is." Shina stood, swinging his knapsack onto his shoulders, and dropping the copy blade onto the floor with a clang, as he walked over to the door.  
Petrik started, straining against the restraints. "Do I go free?"

Shina looked over at him, with a strange look. "Tell me Petrik, what does my lady of wasps, encourage from her followers?"  
Petrik thought hard, even as he tried to reach out with a foot to one of the four daggers on the storeroom floor, so he could slice his bonds, but each was just beyond his reach. Shina responded for him.  
"She is a wonderful queen, master smith. And among that which she revels in, is vengeance. How many people did I say died defending your fakes?"  
Panic shot through Petrik, as he desperately began reaching for one of the daggers, fear drenching his voice. "Twenty. Sir, please, I've been nothing but helpful!"  
Shina sighed, adjusting his knapsack. "Twenty. And according to the maintenance rotations of this city, the next time this area of the draining is to be serviced is in twenty days. Twenty people died guarding fake tombs, so you shall spend twenty days in a tomb with your fakes. If you survive, then I imagine your daughter will be quite hungry when you get home. If you die…then those twenty misguided souls, will be satisfied."

And even as the tied up smith let out a broken groan, pleading with every word he knew in the common tongue and elvish, straining pitifully against his bonds, Shina stepped out of the storeroom, and pulled the door shut behind him, the lock clicking home.


End file.
